But when the cathedral was empty, Louis always returned to the mystery.
Lying on the cool flagstone floor, he would stare up at the lofty ceiling, and the seven huge wooden beams that held it up.
"As high as heaven," he thought, gazing at the beams one morning, "and just as mysterious." Though the beams must have been made from trees, Louis couldn't imagine a tree ever growing so large. "Maybe they were brought here by angels..." He laughed at this thought, though part of him believed it.
Then Louis saw something new: snowflakes, drifting down from above.
"Snow in summer?" He sat up, and ran his finger across a bench. The "snow" was dry and gritty. Something wasn't right.
"Emil, come here! he shouted. "Quickly."
The old caretaker emerged from his workshop behind the choir loft. "What is it, my friend?" he asked.
"Have you seen this?" said Louis.
Emil rubbed the dust between his thumb and finger. He looked up at the ceiling, and the powder drifting down from the beams. When he looked back at Louis, his face spoke bad news. "It's finally happening," he mumbled. "After all these years, it's started."
"What's started," demanded Louis.
"This is horrible, Louis." Emil turned toward the doors. "I must tell the Village Master."
"Wait," said Louis. "What's wrong?"
"The beams are rotting," said Emil. "And once it starts, there is no way to stop it." He hurried away.
